The Fox and the Hound
by UA
Summary: Carol and Daryl are neighbors. Thanks to their dogs, they soon become family. Are you still in-laws when the family that joins you together wear fur coats? Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**The Fox and the Hound**

* * *

 **xx1xx**

* * *

"Mama?"

"Hmm," Carol hummed absently, keeping one hand steady on the steering wheel and reaching the other up to adjust the Honda's rear view mirror to get a better glimpse of her seven-year-old daughter. The darn thing wobbled, almost fell off completely in her hand, and she bit back a sigh at yet another needless reminder that the old relic she was driving was a better fit for the local junk yard than a dependable mode of transportation to and from their little middle of nowhere house of the last few months. The knowledge that its gas mileage was second to none did little to comfort her on days like this, and she fought a downward tug of her own lips as she eyed the forlorn pout on her baby girl's mouth and the fat tears welling in her hazel eyes. "What is it, Sophia?"

Sophia ducked her head, and a tear rolled off the tip of her freckled nose. "I don't want Daisy to die."

Carol felt her own throat grow uncomfortably tight, and it took her a moment to respond, to try to ease Sophia's fears. "Oh, Sweetie. Daisy isn't going to die." Even as she said the words, she wasn't completely sure they were the truth, and she bit her lip, worried how her little girl would react if the worst came to pass and the sweet Golden retriever that'd become such a big part of their small family unit in so short a time were to cross that rainbow bridge. The poor dog had been lethargic for about a week now, watching them go about their everyday business with liquid brown eyes and rarely lifting her heavy head from her paws. Yesterday, when Carol had come home early from the clinic to find her in the same spot with her food bowl untouched, had been the last straw, and Daisy was taking the trip to work with her today. Convincing Sophia she didn't need to miss school to go see Dr. Greene with them both had been—and continued to be—a challenge. "She's going to be just fine. She _is_. Dr. Greene is the best vet around these parts, and he's taken care of Daisy before, you know."

"He has?" Sophia sniffled, lovingly combing her small fingers through the dog's thick fur and causing her to whine and burrow her head more deeply in her lap. She shrugged a skinny shoulder, rubbing her damp cheek against the pale yellow strap of her sundress. "Before she came to live with us?"

Carol nodded. "Before she came to live with us." Daisy had been surrendered by her owner not long after Carol started working at the veterinary clinic, pets having not been allowed in the assisted living community chosen for Mrs. McLeod by her children after her hip surgery. She'd still been a little bit adrift, happy in her newly divorced state from Ed but unmoored all the same, and still looking for her sense of self again. She'd stumbled upon a kindred spirit in the friendly Golden that dutifully wagged her tail for each prospective new owner she met but continued to search with those deep, soulful brown eyes of hers for the old woman who'd raised her from a puppy. Carol had made it official and brought the dog home with her so they could embark on their fresh start together, Sophia the balm to both their aching spirits, and everything had been fine. Until now. Finally releasing the sigh she'd been holding back, she offered her distraught daughter a compromise as a means of reassurance. "If Daisy needs you, I'll pick you up early from school. Okay?"

Sophia tucked her chin close to her chest and nodded, swiping at her tears with the back of one hand. She scratched behind Daisy's ears with the other one, her little voice trembling and thin as she agreed. "Okay."

The elementary school came into view with its assembly of cars and parents handing off children excited for the fast approaching summer. Young Carl Grimes spotted them before his mother did, breaking free from her and sprinting toward their old clunker, his oversized backpack bouncing against the backs of his short legs. He skidded to a stop just before he reached them, and his blue eyes were impish as he pressed his palms against the dusty back window, making silly faces at Sophia, each one more comical than the last.

Her little girl's giggles were welcome music to Carol's ears, and she couldn't help but smile when she rolled down her window to wave at her winded friend as she approached.

"Carol, hi," Lori waved back. Shaking her head at her son, she scolded him, her expression an odd mixture of stern censure and tenderness. Strands of sweaty dark hair stuck to the harried mother's lips, and she swept them aside with thin fingers. "Carl, how many times do I have to tell you?"

Carl heaved a sigh altogether too heavy for his small stature. "Sorry, Mom. I won't do it again."

Lori laughed, and her glittering gaze met Carol's knowing eyes over the top of her son's tousled head. "I've heard _that_ one before." Giving his shoulders a small squeeze, she ducked her head to smile at Sophia. "You look pretty today, Sophia. Doesn't she, Carl?"

"Guess so," Carl mumbled reluctantly with a dip of his head, his shoes suddenly of utmost interest to him.

Sophia beamed, her earlier tears nothing more than faint silver streaks against her flushed cheeks. "Thank you. You look pretty, too."

Lori glanced down at her wrinkled tee-shirt and faded jeans and smirked at Carol. "Is it too early to start planning the wedding?"

Too young to fully grasp the implications of her statement but still utterly embarrassed, Carl protested again. "Aww, Mom."

Carol laughed and kissed Sophia's smiling face when she leaned over the window's ledge, Carl and Lori waiting nearby to escort her the rest of the way, only the pale grip of her fingers hinting at her lingering worry for Daisy. "A promise is a promise."

"I know, Mama."

"We'll see you after school, Sophia. Try not to worry so much. Okay?"

"Okay," Sophia echoed, with a tiny parting wave.

"After school," Carol said again, giving Daisy another glance in the back seat and sending up a silent prayer. "After school," she repeated one more time to herself as she followed the creeping caravan of cars back to the main highway. "Don't make a liar out of me, Daisy," she murmured. "Please, girl. Don't break my baby's heart."

* * *

Business at the clinic was already hopping by the time Carol got there so she made Daisy a blanket pallet in the little cubby hole beneath her desk. Ophelia, one of their blood donor cats, promptly curled up in a tight furry ball beside her, and the pair dozed for much of the day while Carol answered the phone and took care of the customers' various needs. It was well after lunch before Dr. Greene managed to grab a few minutes to examine Daisy, and it took Carol and T-Dog both to coax the dog from the comfort of her shared cave.

Daisy whined when T-Dog lifted her onto the cool metal table but otherwise didn't protest, immediately collapsing into a disinterested heap.

Dr. Greene pulled up a stool and scooted it to the exam table's edge, peering into her liquid brown eyes and lifting her chin with an aged hand. "Seems you've been a bit of a lazy Daisy lately, nothing like your normal self. Care to explain yourself, young lady?"

When the dog barely perked her ears for one of her favorite people, Carol felt the burn of tears at the back of her eyes and bent to bury her face in the Golden's shaggy neck. She swallowed hard against the crushing sense of dread that threatened to consume her, ashamed at the re-emergence of the oft-felt emotion in what were supposed to be happier times. Her shoulders shook slightly beneath the offered comfort of T-Dog's hand, and she lifted red-rimmed eyes to Dr. Greene's kindly face when she realized he was speaking to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."

Dr. Greene calmly repeated his question. "She eating alright? Have you noticed any change in her appetite?"

Carol straightened, shooting T-Dog a small look of gratitude over her shoulder. "Not as much as usual. Some days she barely eats anything at all." Absently stroking Daisy's back as she talked, she continued, "She's even thrown up a few times." She bit her lip against the questions that wanted to spill forth when Dr. Greene scratched out a few notes in Daisy's chart. "But only three or four times, and not very much. I didn't think much about it at the time. Should I have?"

Dr. Greene didn't make her wait long, answering her with a quick jerk of his head. "Not necessarily. Have you caught her eating any grass? It's not uncommon for dogs to ingest grass to induce vomiting when they have an upset stomach."

Carol frowned and shook her head.

"Have you changed her food in any way? Perhaps young Sophia might have slipped her some scraps from her own dinner? Certain foods that are okay for humans to consume are quite toxic to dogs."

"No and _no_. Sophia knows better than that." Carol rubbed a tired hand over her face. They'd had a long talk, she and Sophia, about the commitment and many responsibilities that owning a furry friend entailed before she even brought Daisy home. In some ways, it felt like a curious prelude to parenting, but she hadn't felt the need to tell her seven-year-old _that_.

"But someone else might not," Dr. Greene sagely pointed out. "Has anyone other than you or Sophia been feeding Daisy her meals?"

Carol sighed, watching the old man's expression intently for any hint of what he was thinking. "Daisy rarely goes anywhere without one or both of us with her, Dr. Greene." Her thoughts strayed to the neighbors, and their overgrown maze of a yard, but only fleetingly. Sophia was forbidden to go over there, and if it weren't for the rusted old Ford that made an occasional appearance out front, Carol would swear the place was deserted, left for ruin like her fixer-upper clearly had been. She shook those thoughts from her head when Dr. Greene stood up and set his chart aside, touching Daisy with gentle, learned hands.

Daisy whined but readily slumped to her side to allow his inspection, and the old vet paused in his palpation when he reached the dog's belly, a furrow of concentration forming on his forehead.

Carol couldn't help but press him for answers. "What is it? Have you found a growth? Oh God, it's cancer. I can't…treatments are so expensive, and I wouldn't want her to suffer. Sophia's going to be devastated." The tears that had threatened earlier returned with a vengeance, flooding her eyes and blurring her vision so much so that Dr. Greene's benign face was virtually unrecognizable to her when he reappeared in front of her and folded her in his fatherly embrace.

"T, give us a minute?"

The door opened and closed behind T-Dog with a soft snick, and Carol was barely aware of the opportunistic Ophelia streaking in and snaking around her trembling legs in a quest for affection. She pressed her nose into the soft fabric of the old man's shirt, and let the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear lull her into some small semblance of calm. She sniffled quietly as he began to talk.

"It's not a growth. Least not the kind you're worried about," the old man mumbled into the curls of her hair. "Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions, young lady."

Carol lifted her head from his chest. "But I don't understand. What other…oh." Her blue eyes widened as the puzzle pieces started to fall into place, and she glanced over to Daisy before staring up at the smiling vet in wonder. "You're saying…Daisy is…she can't be."

"Oh, but she _is_ ," Dr. Greene chuckled. "Carol, how do you feel about becoming a grandmother at your young age?"

* * *

Equipped with a brand new bag of premium dog food from the local _PetCo_ and one very excited little girl, Carol pulled in to her gravel driveway that evening only to find out she wasn't the first one home. A sleek black Lexus stuck out like a sore thumb, and Andrea climbed out of it before Carol had a chance to park and cut her ignition, her rumpled black blazer draped over her shoulder.

Sophia was quick to unbuckle and throw aside her seat belt, scrambling from the back seat like a shot. "Andrea! Guess what?"

The rising prosecutor smiled when Sophia wound her skinny arms around her waist and carded an affectionate hand through her hair. "What?"

Sophia positively vibrated with happiness, and Carol knew already sleep would be a hit or miss prospect for her daughter. Andrea's unexpected visit compounded with the news of Daisy's condition was going to make her own job as an authority figure tonight a thankless one, and she didn't look forward to it at all. Unclipping the Golden's leash, she bent to retrieve the bag of dog food. The irrational thought that it should weigh more considering its cost briefly crossed her mind, but she shook it away in the guise of acknowledging Andrea with a quick nod.

"Daisy's going to be a mama! Dr. Greene said she's having puppies!"

Andrea greeted Sophia's announcement with the appropriate measure of wonder, her pale eyes rounding and her generous mouth pulling into an even wider smile, and Carol loved her for it.

"Puppies? Really?"

" _Really_ ," Sophia replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet and twisting the yellow skirt of her sundress between her restless hands. "And you know what else? It's a secret."

Andrea couldn't help grinning at the little girl's obvious exuberance, even as her voice dropped to something of a stage whisper. "Tell me."

"Carl's mama is going to have a baby too."

"Sophia!" Carol cried out in surprise, her daughter's little divulgence news to her. "Secrets are called secrets for a reason."

Sophia shrugged her tiny shoulders and mumbled an apology, catching her fingers in Daisy's collar as the dog loped past her and clattering up the creek stone steps with her. Kneeling, she peeled back the welcome mat, producing a shiny silver key and easily fitting it in the locked door before scooting inside.

Carol could practically _hear_ the alarm bells going off inside of Andrea's elaborately coifed blond head. "It's for emergencies. Sophia's had to pee since we left the pet store." She smirked. "I don't know about you, but _I_ count that as an emergency."

The humor of her comment was obviously lost on her lawyer. Her friend, too, apparently. Andrea didn't even crack a smile before launching into a well-meaning lecture about safety and trusting too much in strangers. "You've lived here three months already, and you haven't even met your next door neighbors yet. Don't you think that's a little bit strange?"

Carol sighed, feeling the insistent fingers of a headache starting to strum behind her eyes. "They're not serial killers, Andrea."

"How do you even know? Did you learn nothing from Ed?"

The back and forth persisted over dinner, the tension crackling so thick between them at times that Sophia barely did more than pick at her grilled cheese sandwich and twirl her spoon through her soup. It was a relief when Andrea finally said her goodbyes, hugging them both and promising to continue fighting Ed's appeal with every resource available to her. The sun was just beginning to lower in the sky and Sophia had succumbed to an exhausted slumber on the couch beside Daisy when Carol heard it—a light scratching at the door. Recognition and understanding washed over her when she opened it to a vaguely familiar black Lab, and she knew without a doubt she was staring at the proud papa of Daisy's impending litter of puppies. In that moment, the various stresses of the day became too much for Carol to handle, and they crashed all around her, filling her with a sense of righteous anger. " _You_ ," she huffed. "I should have known. Go on. Go home. I think you've done quite enough."

"Mama?" Sophia sleepily inquired. "Someone here?"

Sliding her feet into her sandals, Carol pocketed her keys, grabbing the door knob in hand and turning the lock. "Go back to sleep, Sweetie. Mama will be back before you know it."

"Okay, Mama," Sophia slurred, already halfway to dreamland again, Daisy's thick fur clenched in her small fingers.

"You take care of her," Carol pointed at Daisy when she lifted her head to whine at her. "I need to have a little talk with the keeper of the father of your children. You didn't get into this mess by yourself." Closing the door behind her, she crossed her arms across her chest and glared at the Lab, ignoring the responding throb of her heart when the dumb animal merely started to thump his tail at her in a friendly, unconcerned rhythm. Shaking her head at herself, she sighed and hooked her fingers around the dog's threadbare collar, searching for and finding a faded metal name tag. The dog's tongue darted out to lap at her wrist when she started to pull her hand away, and Carol felt a little bit more of the ice around her heart melt away. "Alright. Maybe it's not all _your_ fault either."

The dog barked and started up a furious wag of its tail in response.

Rolling her eyes, Carol held out her hand. "After you, Charlie."

* * *

 **Just a little something I thought I'd post while I polish up and finish the newer chapters of _The Breakfast Club._ Chapters 8 & 9 are going swimmingly, lol. It's chapter 7 I'm having trouble with, of course. **

**Hope you enjoyed this little nugget of madness.**

 **It goes without saying...none of the characters, save the dogs, belong to me. And I'm definitely not making money off of anything that I write. This is all in fun, and I should have been in bed a couple hours ago. :)**

 **Feedback is love.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Fox and the Hound**

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 **xx2xx**

* * *

Daryl had just turned on the upstairs shower when he heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent. He ignored it at first, going about his business. Merle knew where the spare key was, after all, and it weren't his job to always do the babysitting for the ( _usually_ ) drunken dumbass anyway. He pulled his tee shirt over his broad shoulders and lifted it to his nose, giving it an experimental sniff while he waited for the aging pipes to put out some hot water ( _experience told him it'd be a while_ ). The gray cotton _was_ a little on the ripe side, reeking of sweat and motor oil, and Daryl reckoned he didn't smell much better. Having spent the majority of his day off beneath the hood of Merle's old clunker out back, he was bone tired. The rusted out Ford had been a lost cause in the end, good for maybe a few more miles if that, and he'd called it quits 'round about the time the sun had started to sink behind the trees and that high dollar car in the driveway next door had disappeared. He was weary of putting up with other people's shit, his brother's especially, and he balled up the shirt in disgust, tossing it on top of the overflowing hamper in the corner. Swearing when the knock sounded again, even louder and more impatient than the last time, Daryl snatched a pair of ratty sweats from the floor and pulled them over his narrow hips. He practically flew down the stairs, more than a few choice words on the tip of his tongue as he flung the door wide open. He let out a loud curse when a small fist promptly connected with the side of his nose and Merle's mutt darted between his legs a split second later, nearly bowling Daryl over in its excitement and bringing the woman holding firmly to its collar with it. "What the hell, Lady!"

Blue eyes, big and round, stared up at him from a pale, pretty face framed by a messy tangle of curls. The offending fist hastily uncurled, flattening and scrambling to find purchase with its twin against his naked chest. Her cheeks were almost as red as her hair by the time she succeeded in righting herself, and she held those small hands of hers up to her mouth in something akin to horror. "Are you okay?"

Daryl was normally a man of spare, reasonably polite words, but it'd been a long day, a long, _trying_ day, and he couldn't say with 100% certainty that his nose wasn't bleeding. It sure as hell hurt, and she packed quite a wallop for such a slight woman. No one was more surprised than he when the words just flew out of his mouth, in something resembling a disgruntled growl. "What do _you_ think, Rocky? Do I _look_ like I'm okay to you?" It was the wrong thing to say, obviously, because her eyes narrowed to slits and her shoulders straightened proudly as her hands dropped to her sides, any concern she might have felt for him melting away in the face of her anger. In his fatigued state, well, it didn't immediately occur to Daryl to wonder why _she_ was angry with _him_. Weren't like he was the one doing the punching, now was it? More than a few things escaped his notice, at least in that moment. He'd known her all of five minutes, and she had him completely off-balance, even more so than the damned dog. He scowled when the clumsy Lab bumped into him from behind, crowding him right back into her personal space, and those eyes of hers glittered as she huffed at him and stumbled backward in the most awkward imitation of dancing he'd ever been involved in, and if you asked Daryl, he had two of the biggest left feet around these parts.

"It was an accident, Mr. Daniels."

Daryl found himself distracted by the freckles that kissed her collar bones, disappearing into the low-cut vee of her shirt, and his throat ran dry as he felt the first faint stirrings of interest below the belt, so to say. _Shit._ She was deep into an indignant rant, her cheeks flushed an enticing shade of pink and her eyes heated and bright, before his higher brain caught up to the trailing threads of conversation. Merle had a way of doing that to him. The fog in his head started to clear as he watched his brother emerge from an unfamiliar car a few feet away and start to stumble down the cracked sidewalk. "Whoa. Hold on. Did you say Mr. Daniels? Afraid you got the wrong house, Lady." She stooped to grab the dog's collar in her hands, earning Daryl and Merle both quite a view down the front of her shirt. The lucky mutt's tongue lolled from its drooling mouth, licking a stripe across the top of her cleavage, and Daryl barely managed to tear his gaze away before he got caught staring. Instead, he focused on the moths flying straight toward the single bald bulb that illuminated their ramshackle porch. Poor bastards. He knew exactly how they felt.

Merle didn't even bother with the pretense of things like good manners and shit, greeting them both with a leering grin. "Evening, Little Brother. Evening, Ma'am. I don't think I've had the pleasure."

Thankfully, their unexpected guest didn't seem to notice such things. She was too busy trying to fend off the Lab's ardent affections in order to get a second, better look at the name tag around his quivering neck. "Is this not your dog?" The pooch's nails scrabbled against the weathered wood beneath their feet as it nosed further into the circle of her arms, and eventually she just wrapped her arms around the dog and allowed its exuberant kisses to her face with a resigned sigh. "His tag read Daniels."

Merle's lascivious expression morphed into something a touch more genuine, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. "Depends on why you're asking."

Daryl watched the pair of them carefully, feeling a bothersome, too familiar twinge in the pit of his gut; Charlie wasn't the only dog that lived at this house, after all. He knew that look on his brother's face, knew it like the back of his hand. Merle _liked_ her ( _even though something told Daryl she was too prim and too proper, ultimately too real world pretty for his tastes_ ), and that never bode well for anybody involved because, blood or not, Merle Dixon was, and always had been, a monumental screw-up, a real love 'em and leave 'em type. Finally, he rediscovered his voice. "Name's Dixon. Daryl. And this here's Merle."

"What's your name, Sugar?" Merle drawled.

The dog slumped over on its side, offering up its belly for rubbing, and their pretty little neighbor obliged, albeit distractedly. Her main focus was on his brother, and Daryl sent up a little prayer of thanks that Merle hadn't tacked on the ever present _Tits_ to the end of one of his favorite endearments.

"I'll tell you what it's not."

A slow grin crawled across Merle's blunt features. "C'mon, now. I didn't mean nothing by it. Just bein' friendly is all. _Neighborly_."

She climbed to her feet, and Daryl felt a strange sort of kinship with the mutt when it whined in protest. Unconsciously, his thumb gravitated toward his mouth. He quickly lowered it and hooked it into the slouching waistband of his sweats when he found those big blue eyes on him again. His gaze narrowed when, inexplicably, her cheeks flushed once more, and she hastily looked away, the curls of her hair more than a little bit out of control in the heavy humidity that seemed, to Daryl, to press in on them from all sides, making the porch seem smaller and smaller.

"You never answered my question."

"You never answered _mine_ ," Merle smirked.

"Dog's Merle's," Daryl blurted.

"Won him in a poker match," Merle said. "Why you so interested, Red?" He lowered himself to the glider that took up most of their porch and braced both arms along its back. "Or would you prefer Freckles?"

"Merle, knock it off," Daryl hissed. "Just ignore him," he found himself saying. "Dog's Merle's," he repeated, feeling his throat grow dry when he had her undivided attention again. "It ain't much of a hunter. Dumb ole thing ain't got a mean bone in its body, but if it's been bothering you…"

"Carol," she answered softly. "My name's Carol, and he hasn't been bothering me. At least not in the way you think."

"You not know how to read a mailbox, Carol?" Merle interjected, forcing his way right back into the conversation.

"What mailbox, Mr. Dixon? I don't see one. Do you?" she shot back, with no small amount of sass.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Daryl's mouth before shame started to creep in, and suddenly, he saw their little piece of home through her eyes. The mailbox was all but lost in a veritable sea of overgrown grass, the sidewalk was cracked and crumbling, and the porch they were standing on was a few rotten boards short of being condemned. In that moment, he knew the rest of his weekend off would be anything but restful. Neither would his brother's, if he could help it. "Merle," he tried again. But it was no use, and Daryl knew it. The dog seemed to sense his agitation, lumbering lazily toward him and flopping at his bare feet, its cold, wet nose nuzzling his toes before its tongue lolled out of his mouth. Daryl grimaced and bodily nudged the mutt away.

"Guess you got a point," Merle conceded with a smirk of his own. "Tell me. What sort of trouble has my boy got himself into this time?"

* * *

Turned out, Merle's mutt was just as much of a horn dog as he was, and Carol's dog was pregnant.

Merle's reaction had been so cringe-worthy, Daryl had wanted to retreat behind closed doors (" _Mmm, mmm. Charlie Daniels's got some nice hip action. Don't you worry none, Darlin'. I'm sure your pretty princess took it like a lady."_ ). As it was, he'd welcomed the shock of the cold water once he'd finally made it back upstairs to his forgotten shower and closed the door up tight. The exhausted sleep he'd hoped for hadn't come, and when morning dawned, he found himself tucking his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and clattering down the front porch steps while Merle snored off his hangover.

Naturally, the unrepentant papa to be followed in Daryl's footsteps, tail wagging hopefully. As soon as the passenger side door was opened, the slobbering canine happily hopped inside.

Daryl eased the old Ford out of the driveway, and soon, it was chugging down the main highway, the breeze blowing inside its open windows blessedly cool in comparison to the previous night's sticky veil. Before long, he was carefully maneuvering the heap of metal between two cars parked outside the oldest strip mall in town and cutting the engine. His traveling companion whined and Daryl shook his head. "Stay."

 _Horvath's_ _Hardware_ was a misnomer. The place was really more of junk store that offered a little bit of everything.

The kid behind the counter had his baseball cap pulled low over his nose and his chin tucked tight to his chest when Daryl walked in, but the owner was just as bright eyed and bushy browed as ever. Daryl's muttered _Morning_ made the old man smile.

"What brings you in this fine Saturday morning, Daryl? I'm not accustomed to seeing you out and about this time of day."

In lieu of giving him the answer he was seeking, Daryl nodded to the snoozing clerk. "The matter with him?"

Dale Horvath smiled fondly as he straightened up a display of magazines. "Glenn tells me pizza's in high demand on Friday nights. I wouldn't know." Turning around, he moved to pick up a large cardboard box, but Daryl beat him to it. "You don't have to do that, Son."

It was a token protest at best, but Daryl really didn't mind. Horvath had never looked at him with an ounce of judgment in his eyes, had always given him the benefit of a doubt, and for that, he would always be thankful. Didn't mean he was no saint, though. He grunted under the weight of the shipment and widened his stance. "This shit's heavy. Where you want it?"

"In the back, if you're sure you don't mind."

"M'sure," Daryl replied. "Be right back." By the time he returned, the Rhee kid was blinking himself awake, hugging a cup of black coffee to his scrawny chest, and the old man was holding another one out in offering to Daryl.

"Take it," Horvath insisted. "Otherwise, I'll drink the whole pot, and Irma will be fit to be tied." Sighing, he pushed the steaming mug into Daryl's chest. "Humor me."

Daryl took the coffee, glaring at the kid when he smirked sleepily at him. "Shut it, China Man."

"I told you…"

"You're Korean," Daryl cut him off. "I know. I _know_." He followed Horvath to a display of patio furniture out front, its cushions big and soft and patterned with white roses, and mimicked the old man, pulling back a chair. They left the kid to man the counter while they enjoyed the morning sunshine. The mutt barked from its perch inside the faithful old rust bucket but quietened down when Daryl held up a warning hand.

"You look troubled. Is it Merle?"

"Merle's Merle," Daryl shrugged. "He drinks too much, but he ain't done none of the hard stuff since he got out this time. I'd know. S'not Merle. Not really. Not much of anything really."

The old man didn't look convinced.

"S'not Merle," Daryl reiterated. "It's not him. Guess I'm just tired."

They'd had this talk before, more than once, and Horvath lifted his mug of coffee to his lips to refrain from comment. Well, almost. "There's a reason they call it the _graveyard_ shift. Do you not understand the concept of rest, Son?"

Daryl's lips twitched with the beginnings of a humorless smile. "It's my weekend off."

"And you're spending your Saturday morning drinking coffee with me? I feel honored."

"Nah," Daryl snorted into his cup. "I need a part for the push mower. Figured you'd have it."

Horvath winced. "You're cutting grass? In this heat?"

"Place is a jungle. Neighbor lady accused Merle and me of burying bodies in it."

The old man chortled. "Did she now?"

"Should have seen her face when Merle told her we had Willie and Waylon buried out back with Conway." Daryl grinned just remembering her priceless expression. A few hours removed from everything, it was easier to see the humor in the whole situation. He rubbed an absent finger against his nose, and his smile widened. "Surprised I didn't wake up to Grimes's or Walsh's ugly mugs beating down the door."

"You like her."

"What?" Daryl frowned. "No. Ain't nothing like that."

Horvath wouldn't be convinced. He beamed behind his coffee cup. "You like her. You were smiling just thinking about her."

"Don't matter if I do," Daryl grumped, jerking a finger in Charlie Daniels's direction and causing the dog to whimper pathetically on cue. "That little shit over there? Made sure she don't like me none."

* * *

Daryl grabbed himself ( _and Charlie Daniels_ ) a bite to eat from the little diner on the corner while he waited on _Zeke's_ to open. Coffee spilled over his fingers, and he dropped the rest of his biscuit in the floor of the truck ( _only to have the dog gobble it up in seconds_ ) when a familiar face appeared in the passenger window without warning.

"Hey, Asshole." The pigtailed teen's grin made her Doe eyes crinkle around the edges, and she wiggled her fingers in invitation to the dog, which instantly scooted across the cab of the truck, panting and whining with pleasure.

"Watch your mouth, Chambler," Daryl warned with a light growl, pushing his door open at the same time that she pulled the passenger door open, and the mutt seized the opportunity to scamper free, nuzzling its head beneath her free hand in a quest for the affection it knew she wouldn't deny.

She rolled her eyes at him, digging into the pockets of her work smock to withdraw a set of keys. "You sound like Principal Blake. That's not a good thing."

The antsy Lab disappeared into a row of low lying shrubs and hiked up a leg to relieve itself, causing Daryl to scowl. "Your boss man better not bill me if dumbass over there kills the plants."

"Is that even possible?" Tara muttered, heaving the heavy glass door open and turning on the lights. The harsh florescent brightness made them both squint as they stepped inside, and she matched Dixon's groan. "It's Zeke's kingdom. I just shovel the shit." Yeah, it was a crude way of saying it, but that was basically her job description in not so many words. She changed and cleaned the cages and the kennels, and her eccentric boss paid her what amounted to peanuts. But she got all the furry snuggles she could want, and the clientele that _Zeke's_ served was a little more _eclectic_ than the local chain store. It wasn't the American dream or anything, but her allowance alone wasn't going to buy her the brand new car she wanted. She moved behind the counter and promptly squealed, causing Dixon to look up sharply and his canine companion to trot around the corner.

Charlie Daniels barked, and the fluffy brown and white blob at Tara's feet shrieked in response.

"The hell _is_ that?" Dixon asked, rounding the corner. His blue eyes widened when Tara plucked the rodent from the floor and placed it in his protesting hands.

"His name is Henry the 8th, and he's a guinea pig," Tara replied. "I need you to hold him while I go check on Anne Boleyn and Catherine. They're not the most accommodating roomies. Catherine will have Anne's neck."

"No." Daryl tried to hand the now vibrating animal right back to her. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

" _You're_ not the dumb hick you pretend to be," Tara retorted. "We don't want to give Charlie Daniels a chance to see if he tastes like bacon, do we? You'll be okay, Dixon. He likes you. He's purring." She smirked at him. "Besides, I'm not trying to be funny." The smile on her face slowly faded under Daryl's unrelenting glare. "Relax. I won't be long."

Long turned out to be a relative term in Chambler speak, and Daryl found himself wandering the pet store's aisles, peering into cages and kennels alike, the curious mutt sticking close to his side. He lingered in front of a kennel full of squirming, happy puppies, and the warm little bundle in his hands pressed flat against his chest. Unconsciously, he started to stroke the soft fur, and the rodent calmed. He jerked his gaze away from the little mongrels when he heard the squeak of Tara's sneakers against the linoleum. "Guess who knocked up the neighbor's dog?"

Helpless amusement made the girl's big brown eyes dance, and she bit back a smile. "Well, I sure hope it's not Merle."

Daryl huffed out a laugh and pushed the dozing guinea pig into her hands. "Stop."

"You?"

Daryl shook his head, watching her croon to the startled animal in the cradle of her arms. "Does Rhee know how twisted you are, Chambler?"

She giggled. "He's my best friend. What do you think?"

Daryl merely shook his head again.

The grin on Tara's face softened. "Well…what kind of dog is she?"

"She's a…" Daryl's features twisted into a frown when he realized he didn't have a clue. "She's yellow."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Gee. That narrows it down a lot. Could you be more specific?"

Daryl ignored the sarcastic underpinnings of her tone and considered her question. He'd only seen the dog once or twice, barely more times than he'd glimpsed her pretty owner. Hell, if he knew what to say. But he tried. "Really more of a pretty gold color."

The teen sighed. "That's progress. I guess." The storefront door chimed, alerting them both to the presence of another customer, and she stretched on tiptoe to crane her head over his shoulder, yelling, "Be right there!"

"Jesus. I kind of like my hearing."

"Crybaby," Tara teased, bouncing on the soles of her feet. "I need to put Henry back in his cage and help out this customer. You need any help?"

Daryl shrugged.

"She's going to need some of that high quality shit. Oh, and a whelping box."

"A whelping what?"

It was Tara's turn to shake her head as she backed away, a smirk on her lips. "Aisle 6, Dixon. It'll save your life. I really have to go now."

Daryl glared down at the hapless mutt, staring up at him with its most innocent expression. "This is all your fault, you know." He groaned when Tara's head appeared again without warning, this time around the aisle corner.

"I almost forgot."

"The hell…"

"Congrats, Charlie Daniels!"

* * *

 **Well...I hope this was at least a little enjoyable and not too riddled with typos and mistakes. I've been so blocked for so long, I simply cannot tell anymore.**

 **Feedback is love.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


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